Not-So-Missed Connections
by casket4mytears
Summary: While returning home from a family vacation in Brazil, Booth and Brennan are stranded in an airport. As they'll soon find out, they're not the only ones trapped in the terminal. Broken bones, heavy narcotics, and unwanted faces from the past? Mother Nature has a unique sense of humor. A Bones 2013 Secret Santa gift for dharmamonkey!
1. Chapter 1

**AN: So, my first year joining the Bones Secret Santa, and I draw a hell of a recipient. We're talking high pressure, high stakes poker. **

**You see, she's one of my favourite writers, hands down, and one of my favourite people. She's the first to cheer anyone in this fandom up with her special brand of medicine. She's the Goddess of Booth knowledge. Her own contribution to this exchange is brilliant, which only upped the stakes. Naturally, she deserves something very, very special.**

**The Prompt: "Established couple B&B are in a restaurant together when they run into one of their exes who didn't know they were together"**

**I adore you, dharmamonkey, so much so that I am blowing way, way over the minimum word count. Multiple chapters (maybe 3 or 4?) coming up, starting with this one (which sets things up to knock 'em down). I hope this lives up to your desire for awkward angst and hilarity. **

**Disclaimer: The only thing that's mine is my whacked-out sense of humour and enjoyment of chemically-impaired characters. We're setting this in the future and no amount of HH/Pelant nonsense will get in my way!  
**

* * *

**NOT-SO-MISSED CONNECTIONS**

**_July 18, 2014_ **

"What could _possibly_ be taking so long?"

"It's Customs and Immigration, Bones, not the Express Check-out at Target," Booth replied with a sigh.

His wife grimaced, waving her one good arm furiously in the air. "Well, can't you... just... wave your badge or something? You're a Federal Agent."

_Whoa boy_, Booth thought anxiously. _The Oxy's kicked in_. He'd quickly learned over the course of the last few days that Bones and narcotics resulted in a rather strange shift to layman vocabulary and an impatience he'd never witnessed. After all, this was the woman who could spend eight full hours staring at the skeletal remains of a victim without a bathroom break!

"Does your hand hurt, Tempe?" Parker asked quietly. "I can hold your purse if you want."

Bones shook her head, flashing a smile at the young man beside her. "I'm fine, Parker. I find that the Oxycodone is especially wonderful if taken on an empty stomach, which is what I've done, being as the vegetarian meal provisions were little more than wilted lettuce. You're very sweet to offer." To Booth she added, "How long until his flight? If we need to rebook, we should call them now."

"We've got a full sixty minutes until his connection," Booth reassured her.

"Well, the way the security personnel here process travelers, I ought to buy him a secondary ticket back to London, just in case," she grumbled. "And I'm _hungry_!"

"Hang tight, Bones," Booth said quickly, scanning the area. "I may have a solution. Be right back."

"Booth! Where are you going?"

_In search of a miracle_, he thought to himself, flagging down someone who appeared to be heading back to their post, or to relieve another person - he didn't really care which. Flashing his badge, he dialed up the Booth Charm to _pantydropper _and blocked her exit.

"Hi there! Special Agent Seeley Booth, FBI. I was hoping you could help me."

The svelte blonde flushed crimson, shifting her hip towards him. "I can certainly try. What do you need?"

"Well, you see, my wife and son are over there," he began, gesturing to a very frustrated Bones and Parker. "We took the little man to see the World Cup in Brazil and my wife took a fall while hiking and broke her hand. She's in a great deal of pain and anxious to return home to her specialist, being as she's an anthropologist and author. Hands are important to her," Booth added, winking.

"I bet they're important to you both," the blonde replied coyly.

"You bet," Booth replied, playing along. "Anyway, little guy's flight back to London is in an hour and with the storm they're calling for, she's worried about him making it out. Is there any sort of... well, _fast lane_ for injured travelers?" he asked.

And then, he winked. He hated himself for it - it was borderline cheating in his books, flirting this way - but it was for his wife (_he never got tired of that word_) and son and well, screw it.

"You come on over to the queue down the end," she whispered. "Have her fuss about her pain. It'll shut up the line," she added with a knowing look.

"Thank you!"

Booth hurried back to his family, the grin plastered on his face because he _knew _ that Bones would _know _just what he did and would undoubtedly be pissed off. And yeah, she was. She was on the express jet to _Someone's Sleeping On The Couch Tonight_.

"What did you do?" she hissed.

"Found the disability line," he whispered. "Now look miserable and follow me," he told her, reaching for their bags.

"You flirted with that woman," she accused, adjusting her sling roughly.

"For you," Booth admitted, turning to his son. "C'mon Bub, your flight's leaving soon!"

"You... you had _eye sex_!" she blurted out. "That's what Angela calls it."

"Bones, can we talk about this _after_ we clear Customs?" Booth whispered.

"Those are my eyes to have sex with!" she ranted. "I may not be able to wear my ring on my hand due to the fractures to my scaphoid and proximal phalanges, but I have it on my neck and... and we made promises before witnesses and Aldo as a proxy for your God."

_Aw hell._ There was only way to put an end to this, even if he was likely to get slapped for it. Much to Parker's embarrassment, Booth planted a firm kiss on her lips, taking advantage of her tirade and thrusting his tongue inside her mouth. After a brief startling and a slapped hand against his chest, she melted into him with a soft moan.

"Aw, come on!" Parker muttered. "Get a room!"

"Booth," she murmured, clearly dazed. "That was... unfair. I'm incapable of making informed decisions under the influence of opioids and... science."

"Let's just get through Customs, alright?" She nodded and Booth added, "Sound like you're in a lot of pain."

"But I'm medicated - "

"Undercover, Bones. Like that."

"I can do that," she whispered conspiratorially, following behind him as he wove across the lines towards the flirty blonde. "Ow! God, just cut the damn hand off!" she yelled.

Parker's face lit up at this. "You could have a hook for a hand, like a pirate! Or a chainsaw hand, like in _Evil Dead_!"

"Evil what?" Brennan asked.

"What are you doing watching _Evil Dead_ at your age?" Booth demanded. "We're talking about this later. Hi there," he greeted his blonde friend. "Thank you for helping us out."

The blonde nodded as Booth noticed she'd unbuttoned her uniform a little. "Passports and declaration please."

"My hand hurts," Brennan whined, leaning against Booth. "Make it stop, Booth."

"Soon, baby. I promise," he murmured.

"I'm not a baby. I'm a grown-ass woman!" At this, she snickered, her eyes glazed over. "At least I injured my non-dominant hand."

"Bones!" he hissed, flushing red. "Parker's here."

"Parker learned all about sex at age ten," his son replied. "Parker is not an idiot, although he is grossed out now."

"Parker is also not royalty. Why are we talking about him in the third person?" Brennan asked.

Parker shrugged. "Dad started it."

"I was knighted. He's close enough." The Customs agent passed over their documents with a wink and he sighed in relief. "C'mon, let's catch our flights, huh? Home sweet home is a plane away."

Booth led a weaving trail through the throngs of frustrated and anxious passengers, all clearly determined to reach their flights before possible cancellation. On their flight from Rio, there had been warnings of a hurricane off the coast, possibly a serious one. The last thing Booth wanted was his son in the air over a tropical storm of any kind.

"The departures board is over there," Parker called out, pointing towards a packed crowd.

"Awesome. Let's confirm your gate."

Bones strode quickly towards the board, weaving side to side and wiggling her arm in its sling. "Excuse me! I'm temporarily disabled and need to see my flight status!"

Somehow, it was effective: several people parted, offering clear passage to a sight line. With a little nod of triumph, she stumbled back to Booth, half-falling against him.

"Terminal E, just like his ticket says. On time."

"Good job, Bones. Let's go."

With their cart of bags - Booth was increasingly grateful that the airline had redirected Parker's luggage automatically to his flight home - they made their way through a series of movators and walkways and finally located Parker's gate right as the first boarding call sounded. With a slight tremble in his lip, Parker threw his arms around Brennan's neck.

"Thanks so much for taking me to the World Cup. It was awesome!"

"You deserved it, Parker. Your grades are fantastic and you're a great child and brother," she replied softly.

"I'm sorry about your hand," he added, staring at the ground. "If I hadn't leaned so far over the waterfall - "

"Parker, we talked about this," Booth interrupted. "It was an accident."

"I still feel bad!"

Booth opened his mouth to try again, but found his partner taking the lead. "Parker, I have done many, many stupid things in the field. Some of them have nearly gotten me killed. Some have gotten your father hurt. But he protects me, because he loves me. I protected you because I love you. You could have tried to fall on purpose and I still wouldn't be mad at you, because we're family. Okay?"

"Okay, Bones," Parker agreed reluctantly. "You'll call me when the doctors check your hand at home?"

"We'll Skype. Maybe I can show you the x-rays," she replied.

"Cool."

Booth feigned a sad sigh. "Man, it's tough getting love around here."

"Aw Dad, you know I love you!" Parker rolled his eyes, hugging the elder Booth tightly. "I'll see you in August, right?"

"Flight's already booked for you pal." He rumpled his son's curls, knowing full well how he hated it. "Love you, Parker. Call me when you land and find your Mom, alright?"

"I will."

Booth walked him to the gate, handing his ticket and passport to the attendant. "Take good care of this man."

"Absolutely! Shelley will show you to your seat."

Booth stepped backwards reluctantly, rejoining his smirking wife as his son disappeared down the corridor. He jabbed her good shoulder lightly.

"What's so funny?"

Bones laughed. "Your son totally checked out that attendant's posterior."

"What? No!"

"Booth, you cannot possibly tell me that at Parker's age, you had no sexual urges of any kind. Physiologically, he's becoming a male of reproductive - "

"Nuh uh uh! Can't hear you!" Booth shouted, plugging his ears. "God, you are chatty on painkillers! I didn't think it was possible for you to be _more_ verbal."

"Was that an insult? I think that was an insult," she insisted.

"Just an observation, my beautiful, blushing bride!" Booth replied quickly. "C'mon, our gate's a terminal over.

Brennan suddenly ground to a halt, pointing across the terminal. "There's no need to rush, Booth."

"Huh? Why?"

And then, he saw it: a steady stream of flights flashing as _Delayed_. Beyond the board, beyond the window frames, ominous grey clouds swallowed up what was left of a once sparkling blue sky.

"Parker?"

"He's leaving just in the pick of time," Brennan replied.

"_Nick_, Bones. Damn it!" Booth tugged absently at the luggage cart. "We're going to be stuck here, aren't we?"

Bones stumbled over to the board, swaying as she studied the list. "Our flight is delayed... Oh, there's another flight to Washington - oh, no, it's canceled now. Never mind."

"It's Hurricane Dolly," a businessman grumbled beside her.

"Dolly?"

"That's what they're calling her. Category 2, maybe 3? No one seems able to agree," he continued. "Nothing's flying out of here come thirty minutes from now."

Booth grimaced. "We're screwed."

"There's always a private plane," Bones suggested.

"No way."

"But I have access to - "

"No way. No." With a resolved look, he pulled her closer. "I suggest you and I make ourselves at home, maybe grab something to eat? Look, over there: _Casa Bacardi_. Rum! Sounds good, huh?"

"I can't drink. I'm medicated," she complained, pouting.

Well then, we'll get you a mocktail," he murmured, leaning forward to gently suck her pouted lip. "And then we'll eat and wait out the storm a bit."

"I'd rather we find a dark corner to kill time," she purred.

"Food first, and then maybe we will, alright?"

What was he saying? There was no way he would do _that_ in an airport... would he? Those icy blues lazily fluttered open and shut and he felt his groin tighten. _Okay, I would. I totally would._

"I am agreeable to your proposition." With a wink, she slipped her good arm through his. "Shall we?"

Casa Bacardi was packed, the two of them scarcely managing a table near the rear of the tiny cafe slash wannabe lounge. Their waitress looked exhausted as she took down Booth's request for a rum and coke and Brennan's virgin mojito, promising in a weary voice to return for their food orders.

"Busy day," Brennan mused. "Flight delays are creating a wave of increased patronage."

"Yeah, her feet are going to ache by the end of the night," Booth agreed. "Your hand okay?"

"The Oxycodone is still delightful in its efficacy," she replied. "This is nice, isn't it? I love spending time with Parker and Christine, but this is nice."

Booth leaned across the table, brushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. "Yeah, it really is. Will you be okay alone? I'm going to hit the bathroom."

Brennan rolled her eyes. "I'm a competent adult, Booth!"

"I know that. It's just... Never mind. Order me a steak. Medium rare."

As Booth made his way through the crowded eatery to the bathroom, he couldn't help but grin to himself. All in all, it had been a wonderful trip: the soccer games were intense, the weather hot and sunny, the scenery stunning. _The pool was also very nice_, he mused with a smirk, recalling several nights of sneaking away after Parker passed out. Even the hike through the _Itty-whatchamacallit_ park had been a blast, aside from Bones hitting the rocks. Sure, the price tag had been exorbitant, even with the comped tickets from her publisher, but she'd found a way to shut down his usual arguments.

"_If marriage is a partnership and what's ours is ours, then my money is ours now_," she told him. "_Which means I can spend it on our son as I see fit._"

No, not even a hurricane could sink his joy over being married to her at last. Nothing could.

Well, until he saw the man seated across from his wife, the one that eyed her with lust.

A surge of rage carried him clear through the crowd, past the twenty-somethings babbling about Cuba and an elderly couple discussing foot powders, past the waitress attempting to juggle what was hopefully _his_ rum and coke. His fists balled at his sides as he came to a halt behind _his_ so-rudely-taken chair and he growled in the intruder's ear.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing, Sully?"

* * *

**The pieces are just so on the chess board... and Sully apparently is on shore leave. This should be fun! *rubs hands together with a grin*  
**

**Please set your alerts, because we're so not done yet. Not by a long shot. And please, do let me know what you think so far.**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Um, wow! Thank you so much for all of your kind, hilarious and supportive reviews! Seriously, I appreciate each and every one, and will try to get back to as many of them as possible.  
**

**We're not done with this magical Yulekwanzmakahmas Fic for dharmamonkey just yet, so let's recap: Stoned!Brennan and Booth are trapped in the Miami airport due to a hurricane grounding flights. Who else should be grounded here but one Tim Sullivan, who sailed off into the sunset almost 9 years ago. Engage Protective!Jealous!Booth.**

**Music recommendation for giggles: We Used To Be Friends by The Dandy Warhols.**

**Disclaimer: The only thing that's mine is my whacked-out sense of humour and enjoyment of chemically-impaired characters. I also really love nachos.  
**

* * *

Brennan slumped a little in her chair, fiddling with the novelty coaster on the table as she waited for Booth to return. Painkillers were somewhat fun, she'd decided. While they undoubtedly reduced her functional capacity to that of someone of more average intelligence, they also created a hint of euphoria to mask the excruciating pain in her hand. And while she knew she ought to be worried about her healing and its impact on her profession, she instead found relief that people seemed to understand her better when she spoke.

_Oxycontin: the chemical translator for colloquial English_.

Brennan smiled to herself as she reapplied lip balm, casually studying the menu. Salad was likely her only recourse here, which was fine. She'd simply order two of them. Or nachos. Yes. She was so hungry, and strangely hyper-aroused. Did Oxycontin do that? She couldn't remember, nor did she have time to consult her phone. A man settled into the chair in front of her without warning and while he had a strong jawline and a smirky grin, he was _not_ her husband.

"Tempe! Oh my God, it's really you..."

"Sully?" Brennan blinked hard, checking for a possible hallucination. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd moved to the Caribbean to run a charter service."

Sully: the man she'd once cared for rather deeply. The man she'd allowed into her life almost as an experiment, a means of determining whether she was as defective as her string of exes implied. A way of crossing Booth's line without Booth, almost out of spite. _The right guy for the wrong woman_, Angela had concluded.

"I did just that, for the last six years or so. It's been a blast, Tempe. Great good, amazing sights, the freedom... It's been exactly the experience I was hoping for. Would have been a little nicer with your company," he added coyly. "You know, after all I've seen, nothing compares to the sight of you in the morning, wavy hair cascading over the pillow..."

Brennan felt herself flush unwittingly. "I must admit you were attractive as well when minimally clothed. But you and I both know I never could have left with you."

Sully tossed his head in an effort to clear a lock of hair from his eye and chuckled. "Tempe, you could've gone with me. You even considered it. I could tell. But the past is the past. One door closes, another opens."

_Where is Booth?_ It suddenly occurred to her that he might not be thrilled to see his former coworker. Plus, he did keep staring at her chest - subtly enough, but noticeable to her trained eye. Booth had never cared for her spending time alone with other men. _A double standard_, she noted. _I never purposely interrupted him with Tessa, or Rebecca, or Cam, or Hannah... Okay, maybe Hannah. Once or twice. _

"If you've been sailing the seas, why are you trapped in an airport in Florida?" she asked.

"I sold the boat," he replied, taking a large swig from a bottle of beer. "I've enjoyed my adventures, but there comes a time when a guy - or woman - needs to settle down. I don't know. Maybe I've spent so much time around trees, I feel like being one."

Her brow furrowed. "A tree?"

"Laying down roots?" he clarified, grinning.

"Oh! I understand. Well in that case, what will you do now?"

"Not sure. I was thinking of checking with the Bureau, seeing if anything was open. It's a paycheck, right?" Sully paused, letting out a low whistle. "You've only grown more beautiful over the years, Tempe."

_Oh. Oh, he's interested in a sexual encounter in the present! _she realized. _Booth is not going to be happy about this_. _His alpha male jealousy could be rather explosive_. But how could she get rid of Sully nicely but firmly? _Wait, did he say Bureau_?

"I am rather exceptional," she conceded. "You're heading to Washington?"

Sully grinned. "How could I not at least stop by and visit the original Temperance in my life?"

Brennan parted her lips to reply but found herself falling silent as she met Booth's gaze. Deciding that a display of dominance would be necessary, she waited for him to approach Sully from behind. His question was more threat than anything, his voice guttural and strangely sexy. In fact, she found herself shifting uncomfortably in her chair, her thighs pressed together.

"What the ___hell_ do you think you're doing, Sully?"

Brennan watched in bemusement as her former lover startled, his head spinning around to take in her rather irate husband. "Seeley Booth! Holy shit! Tempe didn't tell me you were traveling with her."

Booth raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh, she didn't?"

"Sully has been verbose and I have not had an opportunity," she replied defensively. "And I'm medicated. Sully, did you know that Oxycontin is more effective on an empty stomach?"

The waitress arrived with a weary sigh, plunking down the rum and coke and virgin mojito. "Ready to order your meals?"

Brennan tapped her finger against a picture of a salad. "I want that. Whatever it is. And vegetarian nachos."

"New York strip loin, medium rare, mashed on the side," Booth replied quickly. "And hurry on those nachos for her."

"Good choice!" Sully enthused as the waitress departed. "Just had the steak myself. My flight's been delayed for the last two hours by this damn storm."

"What a tragedy," Booth deadpanned.

"Our flight's been delayed three hours. Is that a tragedy?" Brennan asked.

Apparently, no one heard her. Sully was now facing Booth, their shoulders squared up. Watching the two of them like this, both clearly posturing, was incredibly erotic. She was no possession, belonged to no one, but watching Booth glare at Sully was an aphrodisiac. _We should have found a dark corner,_ she thought. _A janitor's closet. I like closets._

"So Booth, how've you been? Still working with the Bureau, I take it?"

Booth nodded. "Head of Major Crimes. You?"

Booth's tone suggested to Brennan that he was about to commit a major crime if Sully didn't vacate the area. And while the intruder had risen to return Booth's chair, he was still hovering. Still watching. And did he... Oh, he definitely just took another look at her cleavage.

"Just retired from my own charter boat tour business," Sully replied, taking a swig of beer. "Very freeing experience. Making my own hours, seeing so much of the world, avoiding the snow and slush of D.C."

"You build a tree house at last?" Booth asked with a smirk.

"Ha ha, buddy. Jealous I was living the dream instead of pounding the pavement and chasing criminals? Speaking of..." Sully paused, gesturing to Brennan's immobilized arm. "You slipping in your old age?" Sully asked lightly. "Aren't you supposed to be watching over Tempe in the field? What happened to your hand?"

"I fell while hiking in Itatiaia national park," she replied. "Booth couldn't have possibly protected me, or he certainly would have."

"Brazil! Beautiful place," Sully enthused. "Beautiful like you," he directed at Brennan with a wink.

Booth cracked his knuckles loudly and rolled his neck. "Yeah, she fell. _On a personal vacation_."

Booth was clearly furious. Furious Booth was alluring. The way that vein pulsed in his neck... Brennan was transfixed. Sully, on the other hand, appeared oblivious. Perhaps it was because he was busy staring down her cleavage _again_, which was admittedly impressive in this top. Absently, she pulled her necklace free of its confines, admiring her wedding ring.

"I believe what Booth is trying to convey is that we are on a personal trip, _together_," she managed. "So maybe you should stop examining my breasts. Oh, nachos!" she cheered as the waitress returned. "Want some, Booth?"

Sully's eyes widened, finally recognizing perhaps that Booth's anger was of the jealous kind and that she was not exactly eager for a social gathering with a lover from long ago. "Oh... _Oh_. Really? You two?"

Booth nodded firmly. "For years, pal. And even if we weren't together," he snarled, grabbing Sully by the throat, "Disrespecting this woman by staring at her chest? Not on my damn watch!"

Sully made some sort of gurgling noise as Booth lifted him into the air and shook him briefly before dropping him. Brennan dipped a chip in guacamole and popped it into her mouth, moaning in satisfaction. _Everything is better with Oxycontin_.

"You okay, Bones?"

Brennan nodded enthusiastically. "I have food now. And you're being an alpha male, which is incredibly arousing." Booth flushed a deeper shade of crimson at this and she giggled. "This is high-quality avocado for an airport eatery."

Sully took a half-step backwards, shaking his head. "Calm down, Booth. I didn't know. It's not like she told me about you two." Looking for a life line, he turned to Brennan. "It's not like I could have guessed. He drove you _crazy_, Tempe! And you swore you had no interest in her, Booth. I mean, I asked."

"I lied," Booth replied. "To myself," he added, somewhat sadly.

"I lied too!" Brennan chimed in. "Booth was why I refused to leave with you."

At this, Booth's expression softened. "Really, Bones?"

She nodded shyly. "Although I assumed you would never feel the same about me, I found myself unable to imagine a life where I did not see you from day to day." She dangled her ring at him. "My vows, remember? The Gravedigger was before Sully."

"Vows?" Sully asked, glancing down at Booth's hand. "_You're married?_"

Brennan scarcely heard Sully's stuttered protests as Booth leaned down to kiss her. "My fine face brings you such joy," he murmured in her ear.

"Your fine _everything_ brings me joy," she replied coyly, dipping a chip in salsa. "Nacho?"

Booth chuckled quietly. "Not right now, but thanks."

Brennan glanced over his shoulder, marveling at how ashen Sully's features appeared in spite of his tan. A part of her wanted to witness a brawl, like her bachelorette party. Perhaps she should tell Sully he was not attractive enough to have a woman like herself? That seemed to work at the biker establishment. Or maybe...

"I get it!" she shouted. "Sully's being a skank right now, isn't he?"

"Skank is a nicer term than I'd employ," Booth replied, shooting a menacing look at Sully. "But yeah, Bones. You've got the right idea."

"Are you two going to fight?" Brennan asked. "Because I find the thought of it very pleasing."

"Me too!" chimed in an elderly lady from two tables over. "Shirtless!"

"YES!" Brennan cheered, raising her fake mojito. "I'll drink my non-alcoholic beverage to that!"

Sully, ever defiant, held his ground. "If you want to fight, we can fight, but this is getting unnecessarily out of hand. Booth, seriously, I never would have approached if I knew... See? She's not wearing a ring!"

Booth edged closer, meeting his former colleague in a stare down. "Her hand is broken. That's why she has them on her chain. And even if she wasn't married, why would you think she'd be available after seven years?"

"Actually Booth, given my lack of interest in romantic commitment prior to our decision to become intimate and raise a child, it's not an entirely faulty hypothesis for Sully to believe I might be single," Brennan suggested.

"Maybe you should just keep drinking that mojito, huh Bones?"

Sully drained his beer quickly. "Raise a kid? Okay, now I'm _really_ sorry for intruding. But it's like Tempe said - "

"She's medicated," Booth snarled. "Which means that her logic may not be fully sound. Then again, I'm pissed, so mine might not be sound, either. I'm guessing from the fact you can't manage to keep your eyes on her face instead of her breasts that beer is impairing _your _judgement as well."

Sully took a half-step forward in anger and quickly thought better of it, noticing Booth's clenched fist. "Alright, I'm leaving." With one last longing look at Brennan, he added, "All the best to you both."

"Nice seeing ya, Sullivan. _Do_ be a stranger, or next time we cross paths in Miami, I'll offer you up for Dexter's table."

"That means he'll kill you," Brennan cheerily explained around a mouthful of tortilla chips.

Booth settled into his chair and Brennan watched Sully approach the bar, likely demanding his tab in expedient fashion. The argument ended, a recent comment registered with Brennan in a way that killer her nacho euphoria. Her gaze fixed angrily on her husband, who tossed back his drink as if it were the virgin cocktail.

"What?" he asked.

"I don't appreciate being told to shut up," she began.

"I didn't - "

"_Keep drinking that mojito_," she parroted. "I also believe you demonstrated a lack of trust when you first returned to this table, now that I think about it."

Booth sighed. "C'mon Bones, can you blame me for the guy being a sore spot? You almost sailed away from me forever with that floppy-haired goof!"

"But I didn't," she replied. "I went to brunch. _With you_."

His hand slid across the table to cover hers, squeezing it gently. "Yeah, you did. And what did I tell you that day?"

Brennan smiled. "That everything happens eventually. And it _has _happened."

"It's still happening," Booth corrected her with a grin. "Thirty, forty, fifty years... It's happening, Bones." The waitress brought a refill and Booth gratefully accepted it, raising his glass. "To eventually."

Their glasses clinked, Brennan echoing the sentiment. "To eventually."

* * *

Booth glared at the Departures board, fighting the urge to put his fist through the glass. _Three hours_. Their two-hour layover had swelled to five hours and counting, the time shifting further into the future with each passing hour. _Damn it, I just want to go home and relax in my bed, with my wife. Is that so much to ask?_

With a muttered curse, he approached a nearby window, where Bones was studying the sky outside. Their bags were still unchecked for their next flight, making for an exhausting process each and every time they changed locations. With the Oxy making her restless, this was more frequent than his back could stand.

"Seven twenty," he muttered as his hand found the small of her back.

"We could always cancel our flight and seek accommodations," she suggested.

"In this weather? We'd be more likely to get swept out to sea and get swallowed by a gator or something."

Brennan rolled her eyes. "Booth, I am certain with my connections that I could arrange suitable transportation and lodgings."

"No, we'll wait it out. I want to get you home. I don't trust the doctors in Rio."

"Dr. Esperanza was a colleague of mine at American University. I'm confident that he ensured my hand was set properly by the medical team."

Booth frowned, running his fingertips along the edge of her sling. "I know, I just... You're the most precious thing in my life, and I didn't take care of you."

"Are we going to have a repeat of the Parker discussion?" she asked. "Because it applies to you as well."

Clearly defeated, Booth kissed her cheek and gave in. "Alright, alright. Do you need your medication?"

A wince, ever so slight, gave her away. "I'm okay for now."

"Liar. Take a pill, baby. It's gonna wear off soon."

"Restroom first," she protested. "And don't call me 'baby'!"

For a moment, he almost considered suggesting he accompany her to the bathroom as a joke, but then thought better of it. With her ten martial arts or whatever, she'd probably find a way to beat him up with one arm and then his ass _and ego _would be bruised. Instead, he watched her drift in and out of the throngs of pissed off travelers towards the facilities, refusing to break eye contact until she was inside.

Always watching. It was instinctual. They'd had too many close calls for him to risk her safety for anything.

Leaning into the wall beside him, his thoughts drifted back to Sully and his unexpected appearance. _What a goddamn mood killer_, Booth lamented. _Although Bones telling him she rejected him for me was kind of satisfying._ How he hadn't connected those dots before now, Booth couldn't explain. Clearly, she'd written him that letter while he was with Cam, which predated Epps and therapy and Sully. Booth exhaled loudly, shaking his head.

_She's loved me for that long. If only the two of us could have been more honest about our feelings back then... We could have avoided so much pain._

To his left, a muted TV displayed information about Hurricane Dolly, now certainly a Category 2 and just enough storm to ground flights for the hours to come. _Dolly. What a stupid name_.

"Might as well call it Barbie," he grumbled, turning around to search for Bones.

He didn't find his wife. Instead, he found a blonde with a cascade of waves framing her excited face.

"Seeley!"

Disbelief sucker-punched him in the gut. "_Hannah_?"

_Speak of the goddamn devil..._

"In the flesh!" She spun around in a circle playfully, her carry-on bag slapping against her hip. "God, it's so good to see you again. You trapped in flight delay hell, too?"

"Uh, yeah. Almost four hours now and counting. I thought you were in the Middle East?" _Crap, crap, crap. I've got to get rid of her before Bones sees her._

Hannah nodded. "Oh, I was, but my cousin's getting married in Chicago next weekend. Always the bridesmaid," she joked weakly.

Booth shrugged. "Some people aren't the marrying kind. Isn't that what you said?"

_Take a hint. Take ten of them. Go away. _His eyes searched frantically for Bones, but she was nowhere to be found.

"I did say that," Hannah replied quietly. "Look, Seeley, about how we ended - "

"Hannah, it's the past," he interrupted.

"I screwed up, Seeley," Hannah blurted out. "I blew it. Turning you down was the biggest mistake of my life... I miss it, you know. Us."

He tried another tack. "We wanted different things out of life. There's nothing wrong with that. It's just how it is."

Hannah sighed deeply, leaning against the wall. "Maybe we did. Or maybe I didn't understand what I wanted. What mattered most in life. You've been over there, Seeley. It affects you. The violence and death... I let it keep me from many things. But sometimes," she continued, "you get another chance to make it right."

Booth edged backwards warily. "Hannah, this really isn't the time or place - "

But she wasn't listening anymore. Booth felt his back slam into the wall as Hannah lunged forward, kissing him hard enough to bruise his lips. And as he tried to move his hands between them and push her away, he had a single, sickening thought:

_Bones is getting arrested tonight_.

* * *

**Did you really think that I'd stop at one ex when we could have double the awkward? Pssh! 'Tis the season of giving!  
**

**Let me know if the Sully-Booth showdown lived up to your increasingly wild and daunting expectations (keeping in mind that Booth doesn't want to be arrested in Miami, does he?) and also place your bets on what Stoned!Brennan might do when she returns from the ladies room.**

**(One or two chapters to go; depends on how things unfold)**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: A confession: I nearly deleted this entire chapter and started again.  
**

**The overwhelming positive response to this story brought on the intense case of the "writing flow fail" that sends me into a tiny corner, hating every word from my typing fingers. Covalent Bond is the one who talked me off a ledge. If you dislike the chapter, you can take it up with her... unless you're a monkey, in which case, smack me.**

**I have not even begun to respond to all reviews, but in answer to many: we're rewinding a few minutes here from Brennan's POV. I trust many of your queries will be addressed. I overthink the hell out of things. ;) **

**This chapter was written to, among other songs: Thunderstruck - AC/DC; Set Fire To Your Friends - The Box Tiger; Let Me Go - Haim  
**

**Disclaimer: The only thing that's mine is my whacked-out sense of humour and enjoyment of chemically-impaired characters. You may not wish to read the end of this chapter in workplace settings. May. This fic is T, after all.  
**

* * *

"Seven twenty," Booth muttered behind her.

Brennan struggled to empathize with her husband. Perhaps it was the cloud of chemicals swirling in her skull - a mirror image of the weather pattern outside - but she really wasn't that troubled by the delay. Well, aside from the inability to tear his clothing off and demonstrate all of the things she could do with one hand...

"We could always cancel our flight and seek accommodations," she suggested on behalf of her oversexed body.

Booth gave her a look that suggested she might be less than rational at the moment. "In this weather? We'd be more likely to get swept out to sea and get swallowed by a gator or something."

"Booth, I am certain with my connections that I could arrange suitable transportation and lodgings." _Lodgings with a soft bed... or any flat surface, really._

"No, we'll wait it out. I want to get you home. I don't trust the doctors in Rio."

Her useful hand reached for his arm, squeezing it reassuringly. "Dr. Esperanza was a colleague of mine at American University. I'm confident that he ensured my hand was set properly by the medical team."

"I know, I just... You're the most precious thing in my life, and I didn't take care of you."

"Are we going to have a repeat of the Parker discussion? Because it applies to you as well."

She'd won, of course. Even medicated, she was still exceptional. Booth had told her so for the last two days, even when her command of vocabulary and motor skills were at their worst. She recalled briefly the moment she'd referred to her watch as a _time-wrist-thing_ and felt embarrassed anew.

"Alright, alright. Do you need your medication?"

_Uh oh_. She swore she'd mentioned taking her next dose early at the cafe. She was certain of it. The nachos had dulled the effects of her medication and really, it was perfectly safe to take twice her prescribed dose at once, so why not take it three hours early? Hadn't she told Booth this?

"I'm okay for now," she lied. _Was he at the table when I took it? I can't recall._

"Liar. Take a pill, baby."

"Restroom first," she countered. "And don't call me 'baby'!"

Brennan concentrated very, very carefully on walking through the crowded terminal, mulling how best to inform Booth that she was most definitely under the influence of Oxycontin (and, in correlation, incredibly turned on). _He really can't be upset with me_, she reasoned_. _Her hand was just so _painful_ and pharmacology was on her side.

_Or maybe I just won't tell him. Maybe I'll just tell him I took it in the bathroom... No, the water's disgusting. I'll purchase a drink at that stand over there on my way out. I'll tell him I took it with that. He can count the pills. _

Pleased with her plan, she bumped into the door of the first stall and giggled. _The disabled patrons stall! That's mine!_ With a little shuffle and a hip check, the door was secured. Now, she had to contend with her jeans.

_I need... my other... opposable thumb_... With a grunt, she managed to pop open the fly of her jeans and settle down to relieve herself. Not incredibly difficult. Pulling them back up had become a tedious task since her injury, though. Five full minutes of hopping and stomping and one-hand tugging began (and with it, juvenile giggling at the consideration of tugging things with a solitary hand). Her zipper was almost up when a cell phone trilled out from the vicinity of the sinks.

"Hello?"

Brennan froze, planting her good hand against the stall wall. _I know that voice. _

"Yeah, my flight's still in limbo," the voice continued. "I... What? Jenny, come on! I have four days to make it in time for the wedding. Be reasonable."

_I know you. I do._ Brennan leaned forward carefully, peering between the stall door and wall. _Come out, come out, wherever you're talking with unclean hands._

A flash of blonde came into view as the woman sighed. "No, I don't have a date. Why do I need a date to validate myself?"

_Very true_, Brennan thought. _I hate the expectation of needing a date. _For years, she'd taken Booth as her date to numerous events simply to shut up the gossips. As a bonus, if the night were boring or uncomfortable, he'd volunteer to be her reason to depart. On most of these occasions, he was called upon to do precisely that. They would retreat to one of their respective homes and drink well into the night, dissecting the annoyances of the night.

"Look, it's been three years!" the woman blurted out, clearly frustrated. "I know full well just what I gave up when I turned down the proposal… No, it was just the wrong time for my career – huh? No, repeat that… I _know _that careers aren't everything! Really, Jenny, I have gone on dates since then. I'm not some sort of pariah… No… Arrgh! I don't want to hear another word about Seeley Booth, you got it?" the blonde shouted, turning around at last.

_Hannah Burley_. Brennan hissed inside her lavatory cage. Of all the horrid luck, she would _have_ to be in this airport. Fumbling with the button of her fly, she achieved a presentable state, yet remained locked away.

_After Sully, I don't care to risk another ex-lover of ours chatting my ear off about... whatever they chat about._ Brennan rubbed her eyes as the world briefly spun. _I'm medicated. I don't wanna talk to her_.

A shuffling of a bag and the sound of footsteps signaled a departure, one that Brennan watched like a Peeping Bob – _That's what Booth says, isn't it_? she mused. The coast clear, she rushed out and washed her hands in a fury, a process made difficult by the trickery of the soap dispenser. Specifically, it kept missing her palm. _Plop_ – the counter. _Plop _– her arm. Her fingers scooped up the errant dollop and went to work scrubbing at her hands.

_Hannah…Rhymes with banana. _Brennan smirked, drying her hands. _Stupid woman. _Angela absolutely hated her for irrational reasons. At first, Brennan had encouraged her to bury the axe, but as her own feelings for Booth became utterly undeniable, so grew her resentment of the somewhat nosy and obnoxious reporter. "_What's ours is ours, Angela"_, she could remember complaining. "_That's HIS rule. So why is he telling her about OUR memories_?"

Angela's reply: _"Because he's thinking with the wrong head, sweetie."_

Brennan sighed, rolling her stiff neck. Hannah was no adversary to fear; even during her time as Booth's romantic partner of choice, he'd as much as declared a greater love for Brennan. What bothered her to this day was the woman's callous disregard for Booth's affections and her dismissal of Brennan's warning to her. _I told you how committed he would be. And yet, you misled him anyway. _Perhaps, judging from her phone conversation, she had come to a place of regrets, but Brennan didn't care. _I warned you and you were selfish, Hannah_.

Stepping out of the bathroom, it quickly became apparent that some things hadn't changed: there was Hannah, twirling like a child in front of her clearly annoyed husband. Brennan did her best to storm through the crowd to dispel the pest, but the narcotics were simply not conducive to motor coordination. She found herself stumbling into a very cross businessman and nearly tripping over the suitcase dragging behind someone of the Guido Tribe. By the time she drew within five feet of them, Hannah had decided to disrespect her husband's clear body language to the contrary and forcibly kiss him. _Him! HER HUSBAND!_

(She rather enjoyed calling him that.)

With all of the focus she could muster, Brennan's hand shot out and yanked the blonde backwards by the hair, with a perhaps excessive, but ultimately satisfying, kick to the back of her right knee for good measure. Hannah yelped in pain, her arms flailing in a windmill fashion as Brennan let go and watched her fall to the ground.

"Well, hello, Dolly! It's so nice to see you back where you belong!" Brennan shouted, grinning proudly to herself. "Get it, Booth? Carol Channing? _Hello, Dolly_?"

Booth looked on in horror, nodding his head slightly. "Yeah, Bones. I get it - "

"That was actually funny on multiple levels, given your 'Baghdad Barbie' moniker," Brennan continued, staring at the crumpled heap of blonde on the floor. "I can be rather amusing."

Booth stepped between the women quickly, much to Brennan's dismay. _I do enjoy her look of surprise. Did she really never hear Angela or Cam call her that? Even Daisy called her that once. _

"Look Bones, I did _not _want her to touch me, let alone kiss me. You have to believe me," Booth pleaded.

"Oh, I do," Brennan assured him. "Given your strong emphasis on the importance of monogamy, you would never betray me in that manner, even if your feelings were stronger for another woman." She paused briefly, shoving back the sadness of the past. "I also heard a conversation in the ladies room that assures me of the aggressor in this situation."

"Temperance... I had no idea you were with Booth," Hannah said, rising slowly to her feet.

"Well, I am," Brennan replied icily. "With him. Well, obviously, being as I am standing with him, but I'm also _with _him. As in _married_."

Brennan wasn't certain how it was possible, but somehow, Hannah seemed paler than before. "M-married?" She glanced down at Booth's hand, taking in the ring on his finger. "I didn't notice."

"Isn't it your job to be detail-oriented?" Brennan asked. "I wonder how you've managed to win a single journalism award, let alone several, given your extreme failure to perceive basic facts or even body language. Booth clearly had no interest in a physical interaction with you."

"Absolutely true," Booth chimed in eagerly, edging backwards from the brewing storm. "No interest at all."

"Of course not, Booth. We enjoy a very satisfying sexual relationship," Brennan continued. "I particularly appreciate the washing machine, although the jacuzzi tub -"

"BONES!" Booth interrupted, his face crimson.

Brennan snickered. "He's still rather private about these things, Hannah. I'm certain you remember from the time I told you about the pony play people. Where was I? Oh yes, your lack of attention to detail..."

Hannah seemed rather uncomfortable. This made Brennan very pleased for some reason. Did that make her a bad person?

"Look, Temperance, Seeley, I apologize. Just... seeing you again, it brought up a lot of emotions for me," Hannah explained.

"Like the goading you receive from friends and family for being unmarried?" Brennan interjected. "But you're not the marrying kind, right? That's what you said to Booth, before calling me up as you left town. _You need to take care of him_, you said." Her eyes flashed with the lethal intent of the lightning strike outside and she edged closer. "As if I wouldn't care for him. And now it's three years later. You truly believed you could disregard all of my warnings and all of the clear signals from Booth, disappear to another continent, and return years later to a warm embrace? I may be socially inept, but even_ I _know how foolish that sounds."

Hannah sighed, adjusting the strap of her carry-on bag. "Look, I said I'm sorry. I'm not going to stand here and let you browbeat me like every other fucking person in your life. Take out your superiority complex on someone else."

"Her superiority complex? Wait just a damn minute," Booth growled.

Brennan thrust her good hand against his chest, stifling a giggle as she stumbled in the process. "Booth, I am perfectly capable of defending myself, even with one hand and a double dose of medication."

"I know you are, Bones - Wait, double dose?"

"Yes. I took extra medication at Casa Bacardi. It's even more delightful than a standard dosage. _And where do you think you're going_?" Brennan demanded, grabbing Hannah's arm as the reporter turned to depart. "Did I say I was done speaking with you?"

Hannah wrenched her arm around and shoved Brennan backwards. "I really don't care, Temperance. What do you want to hear, that you won? That you're the better woman? Well fine, maybe you are. Maybe you've got it all figured out and I don't."

"Hannah," Booth warned. "Just stop it, alright?"

"No Hannah, continue," Brennan goaded. "I find your attempts at demeaning me entertaining. The only thing missing is a plate of nachos."

"What is with you and nachos?" Booth mumbled, his gaze drawn to a growing crowd of gawkers. "Um, Bones? We have an audience..."

Brennan ignored her husband - as difficult as that was, given the way his t-shirt clung to his physique - as Hannah pressed up against her. _Posturing_, she scoffed to herself. Her leg wobbled beneath her, much to her dismay. Sometimes, Oxycontin wasn't quite so enjoyable.

"I may have gotten it wrong with Seeley," Hannah admitted bitterly. "I may have hurt him badly, although it wasn't my intention. But I never promised him anything more than what we had. As for picking up the pieces, who do you think picked them up when _you devastated him_?"

Somewhere behind her, Booth cursed. Somewhere inside her, Brennan's remaining thread of rational control snapped. With it came the recoil spring of her good arm drawing back and throwing a punch at Hannah's left cheek. A counter-jab from Hannah was blocked instinctively by Brennan's left arm and she immediately regretted her lack of foresight. The pain traversing her limb into her fractured hand was enough to elicit waves of nausea.

"Hannah! Temperance! ENOUGH!" Booth demanded, struggling to pull them apart.

It was no use: Brennan had fought armed soldiers with a dislocated shoulder years prior. The feral anthropologist drove an elbow into the reporter's sternum and followed it up with a firm yank to her hair, delivering her pert little chin to Brennan's waiting knee - well, trying to. Brennan missed and Hannah merely fell forward. Not one to be outdone, the reporter countered on the way down with a failed punch to Brennan's pelvis that landed instead on her left thigh.

"Stop it!" Booth demanded, dragging Brennan backwards.

"Why? She's a self-serving, pseudo-intellectual... well, _bitch_!" Brennan finally settled upon, fighting against Booth's grip.

Hannah lunged forward, rubbing her cheek. "You pretentious, egotistical, cold-hearted -"

"_Cold_?"

"Shit!" Booth muttered, throwing an arm out to block Hannah's approach. "Bones, I really don't want to try and argue you out of a murder charge, alright? And _you_," he continued, turning towards Hannah, "_You _are exactly what she's said. You took advantage of her generosity and my trust and hurt both of us in the process."

It was only now that Brennan noticed the cell phones that were surely recording the ongoing exchange between the three of them. She drew a deep breath, attempting to steady herself, lest she slug the reporter again.

"I came home to confess my mistakes," Brennan said. "But when I saw Booth had moved on, I stepped back. I helped you pick a perfect gift for him. I made you a friend. _For him_. For _his happiness_. And when he chose you over me, _I kept my goddamn hands off!_"

"I had no idea he'd chosen you," Hannah deflected.

"Maybe next time you should ask before shoving your tongue down someone's throat," Brennan suggested sarcastically.

"Maybe I was being impulsive. It's not like Seeley doesn't know that about me. Once upon a time, he loved it about me," Hannah taunted. "I bet you plan sex in a daytimer."

"We have so much sex, I feel no need to track it," Brennan replied, circling to her left. "I'm supposing, given your refusal to ever put your partner's needs first, that you _do _keep track. Track this: Booth is _mine._ He will always _be mine_. I know that I could die tomorrow and his metaphorical heart would still be devoted to mine."

"It would," Booth murmured, staring at her in awe. "Never doubt it, Bones."

"And yet I'm the bad guy for turning you down," Hannah spat out. "You were never committed to me, yet _I'm_ the one who wronged _you_, Seeley?"

"What seems to be the trouble here?"

Brennan glanced to her right, surprised to find two security personnel beside her, each of them holding their hand over their respective holstered firearms. It was likely a poor idea, but she simply couldn't help it: she giggled. Loudly.

"Booth, remember that time you put in that Hold For Information on me?" she asked quietly.

"Not now, Bones," Booth hissed. Louder, he replied, "Everything's fine. Just a misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding?" Hannah snapped. "This woman is clearly disturbed! She assaulted me! See?"

The reporter quickly gestured to her swelling cheek and the bruise blossoming upon her forehead, wincing in pain for full effect. Brennan rolled her eyes back in her head, waving around her sling.

"She struck me as well, possibly doing further damage to the fractured proximal phalanges in my left hand," she protested. "She also sexually assaulted my husband, hence my defensive actions."

The female officer raised her eyebrow at this. "A sexual assault?"

Booth flushed a deep shade of crimson. "Look, Hannah is my ex. She took it upon herself to initiate a kiss I had no interest in."

"Unwanted contact of a sexual nature," Brennan chimed in. "Assault. If I happened to bruise _Baghdad Barbie_'s face, it was justified."

"Is that true?" the female officer asked Hannah as the male officer mouthed _Baghdad Barbie? _at Booth.

Hannah flashed an innocent smile. "Sexual assault is a bit excessive, don't you think? I was overly exuberant in my greeting of a former lover."

"Exuberant? Is that your word of the day on your smartphone dictionary application?" Brennan asked, smirking.

The male officer took a step backwards, glancing between Booth and each of the women, shaking his head. Booth groaned, digging in his pocket for his badge. Brennan, on the other hand, looked tremendously proud. She was also swaying side to side and blissfully unaware of how close she was to falling over sideways.

"Booth, I'm hungry," Brennan announced. "I'm also bored of this argument. Can we go?"

"In a minute. Look, Special Agent Seeley Booth, FBI," he advised security, flashing his badge. "My wife is clearly medicated due to a severe hand injury. Can we just all walk in separate directions and call this a no-fault misunderstanding?"

"It's her fault I hurt my hand," Brennan whined, rubbing her cast. "She made the hazy head thing go away. Now, it's all... hurt-y."

"Please?" Booth pleaded.

With an exchanged look between the officers, the male - _Henderson_, Booth noted on his chest - nodded slowly. "Fine, but you two head for your gate and stay there. Tell me you're not on the same flight?"

"American Airlines to Chicago," Hannah muttered, massaging her cheek with her water bottle.

Booth calmly replied, "United to D.C."

"Alright, then. I don't want to have to speak with any of you again today. I've got enough bullshit to deal with thanks to Dolly," he grumbled.

Brennan waved her hand in the air as if conducting an invisible orchestra. "_Dolly will never go away again!_" she sang.

Henderson leaned closer as his partner escorted Hannah away. "Sir, your wife is higher than a goddamn kite."

"I know," Booth whispered. "I'm never letting her take Oxycontin again."

"_Boooooooooth_! Did I win? Angela will ask me if I won," Brennan babbled.

"Yes, baby. You won," Booth replied gently.

"Don't call me 'baby'!"

"Good luck," Henderson mumbled with a wink.

Booth sighed, turning to face his wife with a wide grin. "Well, there you go! I got to wave my badge around after all. Did you have fun causing a commotion in Miami International?"

Brennan's eyebrow raised. "Are you mocking me?"

"Of course not. That would be hazardous to my health," Booth replied. "How's your hand, slugger?"

Brennan grimaced. "Very bad. I did not properly anticipate the consequences of striking her. Or maybe the first dose has worn off and I'm back to the prescribed single dosage of oxycodone. I'm not sure. There's math involved and I find my brain is being slow and distracted."

"I'm gonna guess a little of column A, a little of column B. Although someone _really _shouldn't be upping her medication on her own," Booth added, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

"But medically, it's perfectly safe -"

"I don't care," Booth countered. "If this is how loopy I am on painkillers, I understand your need to supervise me when I take them now."

Brennan nodded, leaning into his shoulder with a sad sigh. "I don't like that she was right."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Well, I did leave you... upset you... And I failed to communicate with you while in Maluku. My actions caused you grief. You found comfort with Hannah." Brennan's lip quivered. "We both hurt you, Booth."

Booth's chest ached at the fragility of his partner, at the way she suddenly seemed _diminished_. His hand reached for her chin, cupping it lovingly and bringing her eyes back to meet his. _Come back to me_, he thought, admiring her porcelain skin and stormy irises. _Don't hide._

"I hurt you by refusing to give you time," he gently rebuked her. "I blew it at the Hoover. There were so many times I could have told you after that night that I changed my mind, that I didn't want to move on. That I would wait for you, if that's what you wanted me to do. There was no malice, Bones. We just weren't ready for each other. And Hannah didn't pick up the pieces for me, no matter what she thinks."

"She didn't?"

Booth shook his head. "She may have thrown them back into the box, but I was the one who put the puzzle together again. Me. With your support, after she left."

"Oh..." Brennan exhaled loudly, nuzzling against him. "I love you, Booth."

His lips pressed against the top of her head. "I love you too, Bones."

They sat quietly for several minutes, their breathing falling into unified rhythm. Around them, the annoying din of announcements and passengers receded to where it became a white noise in the distance. The feel of her warmth against his chest, the way she murmured formless syllables when he toyed with her hair... This was where he belonged. Where he'd _always _belonged, since the day he'd strode into that lecture hall and caught a glimpse of her.

"Booth?"

"Hmm?"

"Have I ever told you how much I appreciate your physique?"

Booth chuckled softly. "Maybe once or twice."

Her fingertip traced along his jawline, drifting down to run along his neck. "You've always been exceptionally pleasing to look at. Your laryngeal prominence is particularly fascinating..."

A shiver ran down his spine as he sensed where this was going. "Bones..."

Her lips pressed softly to his Adam's apple, a gentle suction soon felt for the briefest of moments. "You taste like rum and salt," she murmured with a grin. "I like it."

"Mmm..."

She slid herself into his lap, draping herself so her legs dangled off to his right side. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she burrowed her face against his ear, delicately nipping at the lobe. Booth felt a stirring in his jeans and swallowed back a groan.

"_Bones_," he hissed.

"_I need you_," she murmured. "_Please_... I just... _need_..."

His palms slid of their own accord to cup her firm ass, pressing her against him in painful pleasure. A rumble slipped from her throat, one he swallowed with a fierce kiss that left them both breathless and panting. _This can't happen here_, he told himself repeatedly. _Privacy_. They needed privacy. But where? _Where? _

As if she could hear his thoughts, Brennan pulled back with a sly grin. "I saw a utility closet near the ladies room," she whispered conspiratorially.

Booth glanced over at the Departures board. _Two more hours_. Yeah, they had time.

"Hell yeah," he growled in her ear.

Her good hand in his, he tried not to run towards the restrooms, their carry-on luggage only half-slowing him down. A slight skip in her step became a stumble and a laughing fit, and Booth found himself laughing with her. This was so wrong and so right, like everything between them. Heart and brain. Cop and scientist. Yin and yang.

"C'mon," she whispered, pulling open the door.

_We fit_, he thought as he blocked the door shut. Her hand seized the collar of his shirt, pulling him roughly against her. Her back thumped against the wall and she giggled as he slid down her frame, pushing aside her blouse and tasting the soft flesh of her stomach. Sweet and rich. _His Bones_. He inhaled her scent deeply, nearly ripping the button off her fly with the ferocity of his own need.

"_Yes_," she sighed, her hips thrusting towards him as he freed himself. "_Booth_..."

He tugged her blouse over her head, tossing it gently on top of their luggage, sparing it from the nearby bucket and mop. The swells of her breasts, the way her nipples sprung to meet his caressing palms... Her beauty. It never stopped amazing him. They met in a tangle of limbs and lips, a never-ending fight for dominance neither truly cared to win, but each found impossible to resist.

"Now?" he whispered breathlessly before sinking his teeth into her shoulder.

"_Now_," she moaned loudly.

_We fit_, his heartbeat seemed to echo in Morse code as he braced her against the wall and lifted her into the air. He felt her slide down the length of him with a soft gasp and nothing else - no one else - mattered.

Theirs was the only connection he could never bear to miss.

* * *

**Brennan finally got her closet. I think she deserves it, after that nasty run-in with Hannah.  
**

**We have one more chapter to go. I'm hoping we see it before Thursday, when I depart for my delayed honeymoon to the Dominican Republic to channel my inner Drunk!Brennan (but will not tell about anything to do with any tubs). If not, I'll see you before Christmas Day.**

**Please share your thoughts and let me know what I could _possibly _be planning for our couple in the final chapter, and hell, what you thought of this one.**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: So, hi!  
**

**For those who don't chat me up on Twitter, my honeymoon was fantastic... and then the day after we got home, a major ice storm took out my hydro/water/heat for several days, displaced me to my dad's house out of town, the holidays happened, our internet failed and many other things that just did not leave me in the right headspace for this fun fic. **

**But finally, with the encouragement of three_squares (one of the very first people to welcome me to Bones land), this chapter is ready. We are finally putting this baby to bed! **

**Previously, on my version of Bones: Brennan broke her hand and is a hungry, wacky, lusty gal on Oxycontin; Hurricane Dolly trapped our duo in Miami, where they encountered Tim Sullivan and Hannah Burley in grand fashion; and then, because Brennan insisted, our couple snuck away into a closet to release some... tension. You ready for the finale? A little less comedic, a little more fluff, but still great fun. **

**Bonus prizes: a sly reference to one of my first one-shots; and another special reference I know my recipient will get. Hee hee.**

**Monkey, my awesome writer friend who will do amazing things this year: enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: The only thing that's mine is my whacked-out sense of humour and enjoyment of chemically-impaired characters.  
**

* * *

"I can't find my thing," Brennan whined quietly.

"What thing?" Booth asked, zipping the fly of his jeans hurriedly.

"The thing.. under my shirt thing," Brennan replied. "My vocabulary is suddenly stunted."

"Your bra?" Booth suggested.

"Yes! _That_. I need more light." The display of her phone glowed blue-white in the darkness of the supply closet as she scanned the ground between them. "Why did you remove it?"

Booth felt his cheeks flush, grateful for the near-dark. "It was in my way," he murmured huskily. "Here, I'll help you," he offered, shining his phone around the cramped space. "Oh, over there. On the mop handle."

Brennan did a little happy dance, Booth's breath hitching as her ample breasts bounced in the shadows. "Thank you, Booth!" With a little shimmy, she managed to pull the strap over her good arm and promptly recalled why removing it had been a complex affair. "Um... my bad arm."

"I got it, Bones." With gentle touches, he maneuvered the bra through the sling and back up her arm, fastening it deftly behind her. "You know, I enjoy helping you with this."

"You also delay my getting ready when you _help _me," Brennan demurred.

"Can you blame me?" His mouth found the nape of her neck and sucked gently at her soft skin, earning a quiet gasp. "You're irresistible and you're mine."

"I'm... not property..." Her words stumbled over each other as her palm reached behind her, sliding along the length of him.

His hands were wandering too, wrapping around her and cupping her breasts lightly. "But you're _mine_," he growled.

"Booth... This... is not conducive to... Things."

"You're right," he admitted reluctantly, his jeans uncomfortably tight once more. "I'll stop."

Her hand flew to cover his, pressing it firmly against her breast. "I never said stop."

Dangerous words to utter to a man who'd surrendered all control to lust. It was how they were nearly caught thirty minutes later in a somewhat awkward yet incredibly satisfying position Brennan giddily would refer to for the remainder of the day as _Closet Sutra_.

* * *

Eight hours, thirty-three minutes.

That was how long they'd been trapped in the airport, waiting for a flight that seemed destined to never depart. The current prediction was another hour before departure, which meant that in the next twenty minutes or so, they'd adjust the time further into the future or cancel it outright.

"Parker should be landing soon," Booth mused aloud.

Brennan nodded, rolling her shoulders in clear discomfort. "He'll arrive when we depart."

"_If _we depart," Booth grumbled.

"I did offer to secure accommodations for the night - "

"I know, Bones. I just want to get home." His frustration was consuming him and he recognized the harsh tone he'd taken almost immediately. "How's your hand?" he asked, willing himself to relax.

"Sore," she admitted reluctantly. "I believe the medication has worn off."

Booth did a few quick mental calculations, complicated by her sort-of double dosing. "Hmm... Yeah, you're about due for another pill. Take one."

Loopy Drugged Brennan might be an insatiable lust machine with a curious hunger for Mexican food and a tendency of fumbling her sentences, but Pained Brennan broke his heart and stomped on the pieces. Booth studied her visibly blanched skin as she slid her good hand into her purse and twisted the bottle open. _She's in agony_. It took one to know one, and Booth had brushed off enough injuries to recognize the false face of _I'm fine_.

"You shouldn't have waited so long," he gently chided her.

"I missed clarity of thought."

Booth shook his head. "You're still more clear than most people when drugged, Bones."

"Perhaps, but I'm not most people," she countered.

His arm wrapped around her, pulling her gently against him. "You're one of a kind," he assured her, kissing the top of her head.

The minutes passed in strange solitude, the eye of a storm. Travelers and their bags passed in a flurry of annoyance and exhaustion. Airlines paged standby passengers and announced further delays. Recorded security warnings reminded them to not leave bags unattended. The scent of her - vanilla and honey - filled his senses as he rested his head lightly on hers. Breathing in tandem. Overhead, Booth watched their flight shift another twenty minutes into the future. It was the smallest jump it had taken all day. Hope?

"Booth?"

"Yeah, Bones?"

"I think the Oxycontin is starting to work again."

"That's good..."

Booth's voice trailed away as he caught sight of someone through the crowded rows of gate seating. _No... No, this can't be happening. _His eyes scanned wildly, seeking confirmation, hoping to be wrong.

"Our flight is delayed again," she added, catching sight of the board to her left.

"Then I guess I better find you a snack for your Oxy Munchies," Booth joked weakly.

Dark hair. But no face. _I need to see his face_, he thought angrily, craning his neck. _Come on... come on... _The physique was right, but it had been so long ago...

"My what?" Brennan asked.

"Munchies," Booth repeated. "You're always hungry these days."

As Booth finally got visual confirmation of his fears, Brennan playfully replied, "Maybe I'm pregnant."

He would never be able to tell whether it was her words or the realization that Michael Stires was at their gate that made his jaw drop open. In the end, it hung gaping, Booth unsure of which shock to respond to first.

"Huh?"

His wife giggled as she turned to glance at him, her hand gently pressing his mouth closed. "Booth, I'm joking!"

"Jesus, Bones! You scared me!"

Her eyebrow raised. "Having more children with me is scary?"

"No! I just... Okay scared is a bad term," Booth backtracked.

"I thought you were happy to be a father..."

_Definitely Stires, fifty feet away_. Booth found himself torn between the landmine he'd stepped in and the one they were doomed to step in soon. "I am! I just... okay, I meant surprised. Not scared." He leaned forward to kiss her. "I love our family, and if you ever wanted another, I'd be open to that."

Her smile reassured him that one fire had been put out, at least for the moment. If she caught sight of her former professor slash lover, however... _Think, Booth. _What to do? As satisfying as it would be to punch the guy for what he'd done to her years ago, it wasn't worth antagonizing the already irritated security team. _It was also a really long time ago_, he rebuked himself. _She loves me. He's nobody to us._

"I'm hungry," he announced. "Which means I'm going for food anyway. You want anything?"

She mulled this over for a few moments, then nodded. "I want something light. But delicious. Maybe warm. Yes, warm food."

"Alright, I'll go find you the perfect snack. Stay right here," he told her.

Her brow furrowed. "Where would I go?"

"Exactly!" he replied, grinning.

Rushing away from the gate, Booth pulled out his cell phone and immediately dialed the one person he could trust to help him out with this disaster in the making. As expected, his first call went to voice mail; his second one was answered with an exhausted sigh.

"_Burns_."

"Charlie, it's Booth. I need a favour..."

* * *

Brennan mulled reading the book she'd brought in her carry-on while waiting for Booth to return, but quickly decided against it. First of all, there was no way to know how much longer they'd be stranded, and with no confidence in the potential in-flight films available, she didn't care to risk being without something to do on board. Second of all, she found that narcotics lent a strange hazy aura to text on the airport monitors, which boded poorly for successful comprehension.

Sitting quietly, then. Fine.

Her eyes drifted over the other frustrated passengers seated at their gate, studying their mannerisms, clothing and other markers. The anthropologist within was never at rest. People were fascinating and endlessly varied, yet ultimately remained easy to categorize by core similarities. She noted one woman's unusual gait and quickly hypothesized an injury most commonly occurring in ballerinas. Another male's orbital socket showed evidence of severe eye injury in preadolescence. The precise injury eluded her, what with the colours occasionally streaking and her decreased processing capabilities. But it was injured.

And then, just when she'd decided that she was bored of waiting for Booth and too hungry to resist the snacks at a nearby newsstand, she spotted a face she could never forget, even if she weren't a gifted scientist. _Michael_. His hair was silvered slightly, his posture slightly slouched, but his was a face burned into her memory. Instinctively, she searched the gate for Booth, hoping he'd found himself distracted by some sort of burger or pie. If he'd lost his cool enough to physically grab Sully, Michael Stires... well, he'd be wishing he was Hannah.

It shouldn't hurt after so many years and yet, the ache in her chest was immediate. The _betrayal_... and not just of her, of their past emotional bond, but of academia - of the truth itself - was what still stung, even now. Her consolation: justice for Maggie Schilling in spite of Stires' cruelty, and Booth.

* * *

_November, 2005 _

_The Washington Memorial case was somewhat fascinating, but ultimately solved readily by trace particulates located by Hodgins and an unusual weapon that tracked back to the victim's estranged brother-in-law. A momentary distraction, really. As soon as she sat down to file her paperwork, it all came rushing back to the forefront of her mind: the Schilling trial; Michael's lies; the way she'd been exposed on the stand. And while she'd accepted Booth's initial apology, she still felt emotionally raw and angry._

_It made Booth's "come do paperwork with me" call, fast becoming routine, very unwelcome._

_She refused his first invitation, and his second. The third became an order delivered in person, which immediately infuriated her and suddenly, it was that second case all over again: she was walking away as fast as she could and he caught up because he ran and his damn legs were longer. _

_"You may have done the right thing, Booth, but it was still a betrayal. I've had enough of men and their manipulation to last me many years." She glared at him, inwardly cursing the softness in his deep brown eyes. "I just want to go home. Alone."_

_"Bones, I'm sorry. You know I am. You know I did it for Maggie, for you - because seeing her get justice meant everything to you..." Booth sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping. "Let me buy you dinner, alright? As a friend."_

_She hesitated. "I don't want to go to a restaurant."_

_"Fine, take-out." He must have felt her wavering because he quickly added, "I need to make it up to you, Bones. You're my partner."_

_"I reserve the right to still feel upset, even if I forgive you by logical reasoning," she replied in caveat._

_His visible relief soothed her rage. "Fair enough. Chinese or Thai?"_

_Two hours later, she absently picked at a second helping of green curry, scarcely tasting the spices as the fire blossomed in her belly. She'd spoken very little and neither had Booth, but somehow, it was comfortable. Natural. She liked that about him - that as much as she enjoyed their conversations, she could also be silent and he would accept it readily. She liked it and at times found it disarming. Booth knew her well - too well._

_"He flinched," she murmured suddenly, recalling her conversation with Michael outside of the courtroom. "I never thought him capable."_

_"Flinched?" Booth gently prodded._

_Abandoning the carton on the table, Brennan folded her legs up on the couch beside her. "One of the things he taught me was to speak the truth at all costs. To never flinch out of fear, or bribes, or... anything. What he did here... He flinched."_

_Booth nodded thoughtfully, leaning forward in his chair. "You're right, he did. A lot of people do, Bones. I see it all the time: cops pushing the limits of the law to squeak out convictions that they didn't have the patience to work for. Lawyers that withhold proof of their clients' guilt and don't seem bothered when the guys re-offend. Hell, even I've felt that desperate to nail someone to the wall that I just wanted whatever would work..." _

_"Gemma?"_

_Booth nodded. "Thing is, Stires knows you and not even that could steer him right. And if someone with your passion and conviction can't keep him from selling out, nothing can. Which makes him worth less than nothing, in my books."_

_Brennan mulled his words for a long minute, contemplating the gravity with which her partner spoke. 'First the truth and then the catching.' she'd told him on their first case - and as cocky and self-absorbed as he could be, Booth had listened to her. He'd trusted in her abilities, allowed her time to find what he needed. _

_"You-you think I'm passionate?" she asked quietly._

_"About what you do - what we do, together? Of course!" Booth's hand reached across the space between them, taking hold of hers. "Stires has no idea of who you really are. He is not worth a minute more of your time."_

_She glanced down at their hands, squeezing in reciprocating before reluctantly allowing him to slip from her grasp. "Thank you, Booth."_

_"Anytime, Bones."_

_It was a promise, she'd later come to understand. One he honoured for years to come._

* * *

Brennan felt the urge to get up, to confront Michael, call him out on all of his flaws (although it would be childish and irrational, given the lapsed years). She wanted him gone before Booth saw him and... and did something worse than slug a journalist in a crowded terminal. That concern was far more immediate and practical.

In the end, she did nothing. She didn't have to.

Two security officers - one of them, she realized, had attended her scuffle with Hannah - approached Michael suddenly and made it very clear that he was to leave with them. She watched as Michael protested, ultimately falling on deaf ears. As the discussion escalated into a very noisy argument, she managed to catch three critical words from her vantage point: "_Hold for information_."

_Booth_.

Speaking of her husband, who was perhaps more observant than she'd given him credit for, he was approaching from her right, carrying two paper bags and smirking. She tilted her head askance, gesturing to her irate ex-boyfriend being manhandled away from their gate.

"Hey, Bones! I got you a tasty soft pretzel!" Booth declared, handing her a paper bag.

"Booth, what did you do?"

"I got us food. Hey, was that Stires? Wonder what happened."

Brennan shook her head. "Probably the same thing that happened to me back in 2005."

"C'mon Bones, look at this face." He grinned at her, widening his eyes for goofy effect. "Would this face be capable of bad things?"

"Yes!"

Booth feigned indignation. "Hey, am I glad to not be sharing a plane with that asshole? Absolutely! But I did not make any calls to security."

"Promise?"

Booth nodded firmly, pulling a pretzel from his second bag. "I do."

Perhaps it was the Oxycontin, but it took her four bites into her pretzel to finally put it all together. "Booth, did you contact someone and have _them _place a hold?"

Booth whistled in harmony with the announcement chimes overhead: "_Your attention please. Boarding will begin shortly for United Airlines flight 3527 to Washington Dulles. We appreciate your patience today and thank you for flying with United._"

"Hey! We're going home!" Booth cheered.

Brennan couldn't help herself: she chuckled, leaning into her husband with a sigh. _At least he didn't strike him_...

* * *

_July 19, 2014 _

"It's ringing again," Booth mumbled angrily.

"You get it," Brennan muttered, burrowing under the blankets.

"You're closer!" Booth whined.

"My hand's broken," Brennan countered.

"Damn it!"

As he crossed their bedroom to silence the phone, Booth swore he heard her tease him with a "_Nah, nah!" _

"Aww come on, it's Angela! It's clearly for you!" he protested, checking the display.

"Don't care," Brennan replied wearily. "We didn't get to bed until two."

"Because you were medicated and insatiable," Booth mumbled, finally hitting the Answer button. "Why hello, Angela! How lovely to hear from you at eight in the morning after spending a day in airport limbo!"

"_Oh, I know all about it!_" Angela replied. "_Have you seen the news?_"

Booth felt the blood drain from his face, "News?"

"_You think I'd call anyone this early without good reason?_" Angela asked.

Booth knew the answer, but had to ask anyway. "What's on the news, Angela?"

Brennan's head peeked out from beneath the covers. "News?"

_"Dr. B. kicking ass!_" Hodgins called out in the background. "_Hannah. Enough said,_" Angela added. "_What happened to Bren's arm?_"

"Hiking accident. Exactly how much of Hannah made it onto the news?" Booth asked.

"Hannah?" Brennan was now wide awake, throwing the blankets aside. "The cell phones?"

"_Enough that they're calling it a smackdown and running it alongside Bieber's drug indictment and the latest Kardashian drama_," Angela replied. "_It's all over TMZ and E!_"

"Crap," Booth muttered as Brennan's cell phone began to ring. "Thanks, Ange. I better start damage control."

"_Sure thing. Oh and Studly? Tell Bren she totally won that fight, with one arm tied to her chest. Seriously bad ass._"

Booth rolled his eyes and hung up, passing his wife's phone over. She immediately grimaced at the name on the screen.

"It's my agent!" she hissed.

"So answer it!"

She shook her head furiously. "No, I can't! Not until I've seen the news."

Booth winced as he opened a text from Parker that was far too celebratory for his liking. "Are you sure, Bones? I mean, it'll be grainy video of an argument you were part of."

"An argument I was highly medicated during," she moaned, pulling on her robe. "This is humiliating!"

"I don't know," Booth replied, following her downstairs. "I mean, Angela says you were a bad ass and Hodgins agreed!"

"Oh no!" Brennan wailed. "That means it's very, very embarrassing,"

Another text from Cam: _Hey Booth, how's the slugger? Can't say I'm sorry about Barbie's face._

Booth watched as his wife Googled herself and immediately gasped at the number of current news articles relating to the airport incident. She clicked the first one from TMZ, muttering the 'exclusive video' part of the headline.

A new text, from Sweets: _As if I didn't already learn, never piss off Dr. Brennan. And the journalism jab? Snap! _

"Maybe I should watch it first," Booth suggested.

"Quiet!"

Brennan scrolled past the usual sensationalized junk in the article, playing the video immediately. It was surprisingly high quality for cell phone footage - clearly a newer smartphone - and it picked up the action from shortly after she'd pulled Hannah off of him.

"_M-married? I didn't notice._"

"_Isn't it your job to be detail-oriented? I wonder how you've managed to win a single journalism award, let alone several, given your extreme failure to perceive basic facts or even body language. Booth clearly had no interest in a physical interaction with you._"

"My speech is slurred," Brennan complained.

"Not yet," Booth replied.

"What does that mean?" she snapped.

The video continued to play, capturing every barb, every angry look - and every staggered step Brennan took. The more she watched with a clear head, the more horrified Brennan looked.

"_Booth, I am perfectly capable of defending myself, even with one hand and a double dose of medication._"

"I said that?" Brennan groaned. "And now, people will think I have a substance abuse issue."

"Bones, you clearly have a fractured hand. They'd be more concerned if you were refusing painkillers."

Beside her, her cell phone rang again. "My agent. Again. She won't stop."

"Look, you've seen enough to get the gist. People watched my ex be rude to you and you... put her in her place."

"Booth, I am a scientist. I operate with reason, not emotionality! I clearly overreacted to her provocation and am now the laughingstock of the professional world." She winced as she threw her first jab at Hannah's face in clear focus, burying her face in her hands. "This is terrible. My agent is likely dropping my next book now."

"Bones-"

"And Tess Brown is gloating, no doubt," she continued, stopping the video as the fight hit the ground. "I can't read the article. How bad is it?"

Booth leaned over and took control of the mouse, scrolling upwards to scan the text. "Best-selling novelist... yadda yadda Andy and Kathy... 'smacked down Hannah Burley, the apparent real-life inspiration for the character of Candy Miller, the TV anchorwoman who captured Andy's affections in Brennan's fifth book, _Bones Are Forever_... Hey, wait a minute: that really was based on Hannah? You told me she was completely fictional."

Brennan grimaced. "Perhaps..."

"You had her disappear without a trace during a story in Egypt!"

She shrugged in reply. "You are not Andy Lister, Booth!"

"Yeah, sure. Anyway, the general consensus is that Hannah deserved what she got," Booth concluded. "And your phone is ringing. _Again_."

With a grimace, Brennan finally gave in and took her agent's call. "Hello, Andrea... Um, yes... Well yes, I have sustained injuries to my phalanges but my revisions are already done... Oh? Oh, I see... Really?"

"What?" Booth whispered, shutting the browser quickly once he spotted a comment clearly from Daisy Wick - gushing about her mentor's expertise in multiple martial arts and her intellectual prowess - that bordered on psychotic.

Brennan waved him away, listening intently to her agent. "Yes... Undo the change to chapter thirty-three? But Gregory agreed... Okay, fine... I'm not going to confirm that Candy is based on Hannah Burley... Okay, thank you for your call."

"What?!" Booth demanded impatiently.

"Andrea has obviously seen the video," Brennan began, setting the phone down beside her. "They're moving up the release of _Bone Voyage_. Apparently, pre-orders are up 700% in the last twenty-four hours."

"Wow! See? No bad publicity here."

"But they want me to change the plot," Brennan continued. "Originally, Candy was going to die in the book, but my editor and I changed our minds on it and left her fate unknown. Andrea wants me to change it back."

Booth mulled this over, frowning. "That's, uh..."

"Morbid?" Brennan prompted.

"Yeah." Booth pulled her closer, mindful of her injury. "Are you going to kill Candy then?"

"No," she replied firmly, kissing him gently.

"Good. I say you stick by your creative vision."

"Besides, I think the death I have planned for her in my _next_ book is a superior plot," Brennan added, pulling away and wandering towards the kitchen. "Breakfast?"

"Wait, Bones? What death?"

"Booth, you know the rules - "

"I am your _husband_!" he argued.

"And that's why I let you read the uncorrected proof now, instead of waiting for the official release date," she replied, wincing as she opened the cupboard overhead.

Ever vigilant, Booth reached for her purse, retrieving her medication. "Take one."

"Oh, no," Brennan protested. "I've seen what happens when I am medicated. I will make do with Tylenol."

"Bones, c'mon... Take it."

Brennan glared at him, gesturing to the computer. "And have more of that? No way."

"What, having your name above Justin Bieber's in the tabloids? That's great publicity for Kathy and Andy," Booth reassured her. "I bet you're even more popular on Twatter or whatever it's called. Read It, Dig It, those sites that do those things..."

"How very eloquent," Brennan teased.

"Yeah, well take your damn pill and come down to my level," Booth insisted with a wink. "It's fun here. Very fun, if I remember a certain utility closet correctly..."

"Or the limo home from Dulles," she demurred. "You do make a good point. Hand it over."

Pouring her a glass of water, Booth shook his head, thinking back on the previous day's events. "You know I love you. I will happily care for you when medicated. I will find you all of the nachos you can possibly eat. I will flagrantly abuse my position to keep you out of jail. But promise me one thing."

Brennan swallowed her Oxycontin, setting her water down. "Name your terms."

"That we never, _ever_ fly through Miami International Airport again? That place is the real-life Hellmouth!" Booth exclaimed.

"Hellmouth? I don't know what that means."

"Oh come on Bones! _Buffy The Vampire Slayer?_ Blonde cheerleader girl fights demons and vampires? Famous TV show?" At her continued confusion, he groaned. "It was huge! Didn't every woman watch that show? It was filled with pining vampires with _souls_ who walked around shirtless despite needing to put in more time at the gym first, if you ask me."

"I have no idea what show you're talking about, although you seem to know a great deal about the male cast members," Brennan replied mischievously.

"Apparently, I look exactly like one of them. One of the agents in the bullpen wouldn't shut up about it back when I joined the Bureau," Booth grumbled.

"Do you?" At his puzzled look, she clarified, "Look like the vampire guy?"

Booth pulled her close, trailing kisses along her neck. "About the... only thing... in common... is a desire... to taste your neck..."

"Mmm... I enjoy this similarity..." Brennan purred.

"When is Max bringing Christine home?" Booth murmured.

"Three hours," she whispered as she glanced at her watch, pressing herself closer.

Quickly lifting her over his shoulder in a fireman carry, Booth patted her ass. "That'll have to do."

"Booth! Put me down!" Brennan squealed, flailing her legs.

"Oh, I will," he assured her. "On the washer."

A silence, then understanding.

"Well, we do have a lot of laundry to wash after our trip," she replied coyly.

"It'll take _hours_," Booth agreed huskily.

"_Hours_," she echoed happily as he placed her on top of the machine and began undressing her.

And they did have three hours... if Brennan's watch was still set to Brazil's time zone, as she believed it to be. She'd forgotten all about switching it to local time on the flight from Miami.

Which was how Max - a napping Christine in tow, placed gently on the couch - came to experience a trauma no father should ever experience: catching his daughter in an incredibly compromising position atop a noisy washing machine.

"Goddamn it, couldn't you two save the follow-up sex tape for another day?" he blustered, slamming the laundry room door.

The two of them exchanged frantic looks in silence, each glancing at the door in horror. After a long minute of silence, save Max's ranting from the hallway, Booth spoke at last.

"There is no good response, is there?" he whispered.

"Oh, there is," Brennan countered, fumbling for her shirt.

"Well?"

Without missing a beat, Brennan kissed him on the cheek and whispered in his ear: "Install a lock on that door."

"Are you two decent yet?" Max demanded.

"You first," Booth insisted, tugging on his pants.

"You have two working arms," Brennan snapped, pulling fruitlessly at her own pants.

"Not for long," Booth hissed.

Max was becoming very impatient. "Booth? Tempe?"

"Mommy! Daddy!" a younger, feminine voice chimed in.

"He won't murder us in front of our daughter, right?" Booth asked.

"I don't believe so..."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Bones."

Sensing that it was up to her - limited faculties and all - to save her husband from her father, Brennan drew a deep breath and considered her options quickly. With a toss of her tousled hair, Brennan stepped out into the hall and played the only card she had:

"I'm medicated."

"Yes, sweetheart. The entire world knows," Max replied with a disapproving glare. "We'll talk another time about your trip. Right now, I'm going to drink myself into a state of amnesia."

"Dad, we're _married_!"

"When Christine gets married, ask Booth if it makes a difference for him," he replied. With a kiss to her cheek, he whispered, "By the way, nice handling of Barbie."

"Violence is not a solution!" she protested as he walked out the door.

Max turned back with a wink. "Do you really want to have this discussion with me?"

No, she really didn't. As the door shut behind him, another opened behind her. From behind it, her husband peered out anxiously.

"Is he gone?"

"Yes, Booth. Come out of there!"

"MOMMY! DADDY!" Christine called happily from the living room.

"Well, what now?" Booth asked.

What, indeed. Her mind was hazy; her name was on every gossip blog after a day filled with encounters between them and their respective exes; and her father had just seen her bent over a household appliance. Really, there was only one thing she could think of.

"Nachos?" she replied cheerily.

* * *

**Whew! Well, this Secret Santa business was far more complex than I first pictured it, but I had an absolute blast.  
**

**Thank you, so much, to every single person who reviewed, tweeted links, tweeted encouragement, any of it... You are all so amazing. I've spotted some of your new faces wandering into my other stories and enjoying them, which is just awesome. **

**Special thanks to three_squares and Covalent Bond, both of whom talked me off writer's ledges of worry as needed. You ladies awe me with your words - fictional and otherwise.**

**Thanks also to our lovely SS organizer, Biba79! It's been great reading and writing this year. You're a star! **

**Last, but not least: without dharmamonkey's seemingly simple prompt, this story would have never happened. This genius sprung from her planted seeds of awkward encounters. I'm so glad you've enjoyed this story as I always enjoy yours. **


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